


Steps Like Quiet Thunder

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene for the episode "Dust to Dust."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steps Like Quiet Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #14 under the pen name Laura Grigsby.

_"Tell me why Paul Ironhorse's spirit is here."_

 

          Ironhorse listened to the phone ring, and ring, and ring… and hung up.

          "There's no one there.  I'm surprised," he said.

 _Where the hell was Norton?_   He sighed silently.  Surely if there'd been any trouble, they would've called…

          Grace grinned coyly at him.  "Looks like you get to stick around a while longer."

          Paul's head dipped, his cheeks and ears turning a dark pink.  He knew exactly how she'd like to spend that time, too…

          "You will come with me."

          "Father!"  Grace snapped as she jumped.  "Would you _stop_ doing that?" she scolded, but it was clear her father's attention was on Paul.  She looked to the soldier.  "He's always popping up out of nowhere… drives me crazy."

          "You _will_ come with me," Joseph stated, his gaze never leaving Paul.

          "But, sir, I have to be heading back now, I can't—"

          With the hint of a grin the older man lifted his staff.  Thunder and lightning erupted in the clear sky.  Ironhorse's eyes widened slightly, realizing that he had seen and heard the spirits speak.  Grace had not, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

          He glanced at Grace, but spoke to Joseph.  "I'll be going with your father."

          Joseph looked decidedly pleased, but turned without comment, heading into the woods.  Ironhorse followed, a hundred questions dogging every step.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Joseph stopped at what was obviously a sweat lodge.  "You will join me," Joseph stated.

          Paul nodded.

          The older man pulled back a flap made of hide and an old Navajo rug, a plume of white steam escaping into the cool air, then stepped inside.  Ironhorse followed him in, watching as he pulled the flap back down, sending them into semi-darkness.

          Joseph turned and started to undress.  Paul followed his example, wondering what it was the old man wanted from him.

          They set their clothes near the entrance, then moved to sit on a woven grass mat that ringed the central shallow pit where the hot rocks rested.  Joseph lowered himself to the ground with a grunt.  "Sit," he told Paul.

          The colonel did as Lonetree reached for a well-used wooden cup that rested on the mat and passed it to Paul.  "Drink."

          The colonel sniffed.  Whatever it was, it had a decidedly fruity smell.  He took a sip.  _Not bad…_

          "Another."

          He took a second swallow and handed the cup back to Lonetree.  "What is that?" he asked.

          "Tava'vic-ta," he said.  "The drink of truth."

          Ironhorse watched as Joseph sprinkled water from an old wooden bucket, then herbs over the large, flat rocks in the shallow pit.  _Volcanic rocks of some sort_ , he realized, then blinked as his vision went blurry.

          Looking up at Joseph, he jerked slightly.  The old man was gone, a large grizzly bear sitting in his place.  Black eyebrows arching upward, Ironhorse slumped over to the side.

          He'd been drugged…

          With a smile and a strong, steady chant, Joseph scattered more herbs across the stones and watched the smoke curl up, revealing Paul Ironhorse's spirit.  The old shaman's eyes widened.  Was it possible?

          Joseph's eyes narrowed again.  Maybe this man was the reason Darrow had never embraced the old ways like he'd hoped the boy would…  Maybe…

          He sat back and waited in silence for several minutes until Ironhorse groaned and sat up, swaying slightly.  The colonel reached out, resting one palm on the ground to steady himself.

          "Why are you here, Paul Ironhorse?"

          The colonel stared at the bear seated across from him and tried to remember how to speak.  His throat felt thick and heavy, but the words escaped on their own.  "I drove Joseph Lonetree back here—"

          "That is why the body of the one called Paul Ironhorse is here.  Look deeper.  Tell me why Paul Ironhorse's spirit is here."

          "I am looking for help," the colonel heard himself say.

          "Help?"

          "I am fighting a war for the survival of this planet."

          "What are you fighting, Paul Ironhorse?"

          "Aliens, evil beings from outer space."

          "Tell me about these… aliens."

          Some small part of Ironhorse's mind screamed that he should _not_ be talking about the invasion, but his words said nothing about the Project, so he let them flow…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes.  He was still in the sweat lodge.

          He sat up.  Joseph, not the bear, sat across the fire from him, an unreadable expression on his face.

          "What happened?" the colonel asked.

          "Come with me," Joseph said by way of an answer.  He stood and walked outside, still naked.

          With a shake of his head, Paul stood and stepped outside as well, glancing around to be sure Grace wasn't nearby, peeking.

          Lonetree walked to a slow, wide river that ran nearby and stepped into the waters.  With a pinched face Paul followed, but the water was warmer than he'd expected.  In fact, it wasn't cold at all.

          "Hot springs," Joseph said, reading the question on Ironhorse's face.

          They squatted in the tepid water, rinsing off the sweat, then returned to lodge to retrieve their cloths and dress.

          "Uh, sir—" Paul started, but Joseph interrupted.

          "We will go smoke," the old shaman said, then headed off again, leaving Paul to catch up.  He was getting used to it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The small clearing Joseph picked was peaceful.  Paul helped Lonetree collect a small stack of old wood, then watched as the shaman built a fire and prepared a pipe. That done, Lonetree offered prayers to the four directions, the earth, and the sky.  With that done, he drew in a deep puff and blew it out, speaking the prayer in his own tongue.  He passed the pipe to Paul.

          Ironhorse offered his prayers and respect to the directions, the earth, and the sky, then drew in a deep puff and let it go, saying, "Grandfather, let my words and actions be true."

          "I think I will call you Havin-ay'ata'lic."

          "What does that mean?" the colonel asked.

          "Steps Like Quiet Thunder," Joseph replied.  "You go forcefully, but silently when the terrain is unsure."

          That brought a smile to the colonel's lips and he realized for the first time that it was getting dark.  He needed to call Norton, but before he could ask Joseph about going back, Lonetree began to chant.  It was a simple refrain, but it stirred something deep in the soldier.  His breath caught and he felt himself slipping away again.

          All around him a storm raged, lightning and thunder, wind and a distant roar.  _The bear spirit_ , Paul realized.

          But why was the spirit of rain and thunder, the warrior spirit, trying to talk to him?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Darkness fell and turned deep while Paul and Joseph sat in front of the small fire, chanting.  Encircling the clearing where they sat, the woods kept the chill wind that blew off the ocean from reaching them.

          "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…" Joseph's voice thundered, his eyes closed.

          The sound rocked through Ironhorse.  He knew this spirit…

          "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…"

          Something warm and tight moved in Paul's guts and before he realized it, he'd joined in the chant.  "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…"

          "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…  Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…"

          Behind his closed eyelids Ironhorse could sense the Bear Spirit moving again, taking form in the physical world.  "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…"

          "Y'ah-nay-ha, y'ah-nay-ha…" Joseph said, then stopped.

          Ironhorse forced his eyes open and saw Lonetree do the same, a very peaceful and content look on his face.

          "Paul Ironhorse, you _are_ one with our spirits," he said, his gaze locked on some unseen place or thing Paul couldn't see.

          The Bear Spirit.

          "It is remarkable."

          Lonetree forced his gaze away from the spirit to look at Paul.  "You are not of our tribe, but you are one as if you were."

          Ironhorse swallowed hard, wondering what that meant.  "It is an honor to be respected by those whom you respect."

          Joseph looked back at the fire.  "It is told that many years ago, before there was white man's time, the Westeskiwin were visited by beings from beyond.  It is told they gave us the strength to win all battles and survive all crises."

          Paul watched the old man, trying to understand what he was telling him.  "It is a valuable legacy."

          "It is a legacy of survival," Lonetree said forcefully.

          Looking back at Paul, Joseph reached out and rested his hand on the colonel's shoulder.  "The spirits want you to have the knowledge of that legacy."

          Before Ironhorse could find his voice Joseph stood and started off again.  Paul hesitated a moment, then climbed to his feet and followed the old man through the woods.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul guessed they had gone nearly two miles before he finally called out in a whisper, "Sir?"

          Joseph stopped and turned, his eyes narrowing.  "Shh," he said, his gaze sweeping the trees.  "The spirit of the Raven is watching us."

          Raven, the trickster.  Ironhorse snorted softly.  He was too familiar with the Trickster to be comfortable with the comment.  He checked the woods, but didn't see anything.  Lonetree moved on and Paul had no choice but to follow.

          A distant clap of thunder stopped Joseph, and he turned, looking for Raven, but the spirit was hiding in the shadows.

          His gaze taking on a faraway look, Lonetree said, "The sky is a roof.  Above the roof my people believe the stars live as people.  The visitors from many years ago came from beyond the stars."

          Paul stepped up next to Lonetree, realizing that the old man had already known about the aliens.  His people had had dealings with them in the past, and that scared him.  "That's the legend, right?"

          Joseph glanced down, an amused look on his face.  "This way," he said, turning and stepping off the trail.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul followed Joseph until they reached an odd-looking hill.  Nothing grew on the bulge, and the wind that whipped dust off the summit was cold.  An owl hooted.

 _Grandfather, protect us_ , Ironhorse asked silently.

          He could feel Lonetree's excitement as the old man looked over his shoulder, saying, "For generations the knowledge has been passed down from father to son.  Today, Paul Ironhorse, you are my son.  You are a son of all the Westeskiwin."

          Turning to face the hill, Joseph began a different chant.  Above them storm clouds raced across the sky, piling up on themselves.  The wind gusted and howled, heralding the arrival of the Spirit-of-Rain-and-Thunder, the Westeskiwins' Warrior Spirit.

          Paul felt himself being pulled into the chant, unable to prevent it, and in one frightening moment of clarity he realized that the spirits of the Westeskiwin were somehow bound to the spirits of the aliens.  The realization sent an icy shiver down his back.

          "Eee!" Joseph shouted, stopping.

          Even the wind seemed to pause, waiting to see what would happen next.  The two men turned, looking back and finding the three aliens standing there, arrogant smiles on their faces.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Standing hidden in the trees, Ironhorse watched Suzanne and Harrison walking around the hill-turned-crater.  It was still hard for him to believe they had actually stopped the aliens.  _That Lonetree had stopped the warship_ , he corrected himself, then corrected himself a second time.  _That the spirits had stopped them…_

          The spirits…

          Spirits…

          He shook his head and puffed, watching Lonetree give Blackwood the crystal from the top of his staff.  Darrow didn't look too happy about the gift, but he knew Lonetree wouldn't give Blackwood anything sacred to the tribe.

          Paul shook his head.  He'd chosen _not_ to follow his grandfather's path.  He wasn't a shaman.  He didn't work with the spirits of his own people or his grandfather's people, so why did he feel like he was rushing full-tilt toward working with the spirits of the Westeskiwin?

          Because those spirits apparently wouldn't give him another option.  That's why.

          It was a simple answer, but one that jarred the very foundation of Ironhorse's sense of self.  Joseph and Darrow reached him.  "Leave us," the old shaman instructed his son.

          Darrow shot Ironhorse a dark glance, but stalked off.

          "I don't think he likes me very much," Paul said softly.

          "He does not truly like himself," Lonetree replied.  "How can he like or understand anyone else?  Come."

          "Where are we going?  I can't—"

          "I will not keep you long," Joseph said, the humor clear in his voice.

          "I'm sorry," Ironhorse said.

          "Come."

          Following Lonetree one last time, the colonel soon found himself at a small cabin.  Joseph opened the door and motioned for Paul to enter.  He did.

          Inside the colonel glanced casually around, not wanting to offend Lonetree by staring.  It was a simple home.  Joseph's home.

          "I need your medicine bundle," the old shaman said.

          Ironhorse nodded once, then pulled the small leather bag out from under his shirts.  The spot on his chest where it usually rested felt suddenly cold and empty.  He handed it to Lonetree.

          Joseph walked to the small hand-hewn mantle over his cold fireplace.  Taking something from the surface of the shelf, he held it and the medicine bundle in his hands and sang softly.  A minute or so passed, then he handed back the bundle.

          Paul accepted it and put it back on, then dropped it back between his skin and his t-shirt.  It was slightly heavier than before.

          "When the time is right you will have our legacy to aid you, Paul Ironhorse."

          "Thank you," he replied, knowing no other words were necessary.  He was embarrassed, but forced himself to say, "I really do have to go."

          "Yes, your friends are waiting, but you will come back.  In two weeks."

          "But—"

          "There is someone you should meet."  Joseph gave him a narrow-eyed look.  "You _will_ come."

          "I'll come," Paul replied.

          Lonetree nodded, a playful grin on his face.

          Ironhorse shook his head, knowing his time with the old shaman was just starting.


End file.
